Freedom in Death
by The Fire In Which We Burn
Summary: The constant torture and the knowledge of the future slaughter takes its toll on the youngest Malfoy and he feels that there is no escaping it. He takes matters in his own hands. Dark One-shot. M-Rated for a very good reason.


**Freedom in Death**

The first time I ever cut myself, I had gotten blood on the carpet of my bedroom floor. Even though it could have been removed with magic, my father had locked me in a cell in the basement for a week, with no food or water. The dirt in my prison infected my self-inflicted wounds and by the time I was released, I had become delirious from the pain of my deteriorating flesh and the lack of nourishment.

Lucius had dragged me out of my cage, my arm catching and ripping on even the slightest of outcrop. Once at the top of the stairs my father had released his hold on my shoulder and ordered me to stand and if I didn't there would be consequences. But my body had other ideas as I had slumped to the floor unconscious, my arm swollen and seeping out on the marble floor of the hallway.

A few days later I woke up in a hospital bed, I did not expect the concerned faces of my parent, nor did I get them; both guardians sneered at my weakness. My arm had returned to a normal size and all that was left was a few scars; but new wounds that did not exist before I blacked-out had appeared. Long and thick welts crisscrossed my chest and stomach, some of them bleeding still, others had healed with a scab. Every move I took made the scabs crack and a shooting pain was emitted from every one.

A doctor came in and explained that the impliment that had caused the marks was cursed and could not be healed with magic, so they patched me up the best they could, before sending me home again. They never asked any questions about how a fifteen year old had come to be in that state, all too scared of my _father_ to do anything.

That summer was one of my best holidays ever; having spent most of the days not aware of my parents.

Last summer I was told I had to kill Dumbledore, the one man who could save me from my life, if that was what I had. That summer I had gotten the Dark Mark against my wishes, I had been held down by my father and Crabbe and Goyle seniors, as Voldemort burnt it into my skin, ignoring the screams that left my mouth.

That summer was the worst, all hope had left me.

This is why I now sat in a bathtub in the Room of Requirements, fully clothed, with cold water up to my throat. I was shivering against the cold; another sign of weakness from the Slytherin Prince.

I knew I didn't deserve that title, I knew that the prestidious Slytherin Prince should be the next Dark Lord and I most certainly did not fit the bill.

I am a coward, this I knew from a very young age, I would try to do the least possible to offend Lucius in fear of being beaten for it. I was a suck up, I tried my best to make him proud, I even sacrificed my happiness and the happiness of others to do so. I hated belittling Granger and her friends because I knew they were so much better than me, but my father liked it so I did it. Heaven forbid he knew my feelings for the 'Mudblood'.

But nothing I did made him happy to be my creator, my father. He forever cursed that I was not fit to be a Malfoy, that I showed no characteristics of being the Malfoy heir. Every year he said he would kill me if I did not do better than Granger, but I never did, not that I didn't try of course. Every year at the end of term he would drag me down to the dungeons and curse me until an inch from death, for not doing as he ordered, if my heart stopped he would bring me back to life and start the torture over again. Sometimes my mother would watch, her glare on me and her smile on my father, as she looked on at my weakness. Sometimes she would join in, cursing me and healing me so that they could beat me somemore. Sometimes they got so turned on from the pain they had inflicked upon me that they would start groping each other in the corner as I screamed in agony, wishing that one day they would make a mistake and accidentally kill me completely.

Every morning I put a spell on my body that would continue until after I died that would stop me from being able to come back as an Inferi for the Dark Lord; when I die, I want to stay dead.

I returned to the present where I had conditioned my body against the cold. The water now felt almost warm against my skin. I began turning a blade between my fingers, not caring when it caught on my flesh and drew blood; I had had worse and it was a means to an end.

I had cursed the blade so that the bleeding couldn't be stopped by magical means, those tiny nicks wouldn't be enough for what I had planned. I pulled back the arms on my clothes and placed the tip of the knife on the skull of the Dark Mark, tracing the outline, not cutting the skin. I hated the stigma against the tattoo would now be put against me and though I hadn't planned it, I cut through the surface and carved it out of my flesh. The pain was extensive but I had had worse. I flinched as I saw the blood run down to my elbow, it wasn't red, it was black, the Mark had infected my blood. I cut and cut until any sign of ink had gone, my blood flowing freely now a deep crimson.

I smiled at the colour. My wrist and forearm was mutilated but I liked the sight better than the butchery the Dark Mark had made of my arm.

I remembered the three letters I had sent. One to Harry Potter with the instruction of destroying the vanising cupboard and one to Dumbledore, appologising for the incident with Katie Bell and explaining the circumstances.

The last I had written to Hermione, telling her that I was sorry for everything I had ever done to her and that I loved her but could never show it. Each of the letters was different, but had the same last paragraph, about what was about to happen to me.

I had planned this out carefully, so that I wouldn't be caught. Everyone else would be in bed by now, even Filtch and his cat. The door to this room would be sealed until morning and the letters would arrive at breakfast. I relaxed as I went over my plan, knowing that I would be dead before dawn and no one would be able to stop it.

I switched hands, now holding the dagger in the hand attached to the bloodied limb, I forced my fingers to wake up as I gripped the hilt. I ran the blade across my pale wrist and watched as blood sprung to the surface; like blood on snow it looked like and it reminded me of when my aunt Bella had attacked me one Christmas for not bowing to the Dark Lord. I dipped my arm in the now pink water washing away the blood.

I watched satisfied as the blood from my limbs rolled down my body mixing with the cold water.

I felt content for the first time in my life and I knew it was because my death was of my own making and choosing. I hoped that my parents would be killed in the upcoming battle and I hoped that the sheild I had placed on Hermione would continue until way after my death to protect her from any serious harm.

I could feel my life draining as I sat there waiting. The Malfoy blade slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor, splattering my blood over the cold stone floor. My eyes closed and I could hear my heart fighting to keep going as the blood flow decreased. I was slowly slipping under the water, the water line rising as I sunk under. I could still breathe through my nose but not for long as I slid under the liquid.

There was no point holding my breath but I did it anyway. Once I had to breathe I coughed against the intrudding water in my lungs but kept inhaling it.

I smiled as my vision wavered and I sunk into darkness.


End file.
